


and what you have put others through

by palinopsia



Series: a sinner once, a sinner twice [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Has Issues, Billy Is Bad At Dealing With Emotions, Billy is angry, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited, i could keep going, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinopsia/pseuds/palinopsia
Summary: After he gets home, and after he takes a shower, and after he’s done applying ice, Billy’s still thinking about what Steve said to him.He doesn’t want to. Billy can’t think about that. Can’t think about the shit he’s done. But Steve is right.





	and what you have put others through

**Author's Note:**

> picks up from where the previous fic left off. again, i strongly recommend you read it before this one, and this time it's kinda necessary understand what's going on and why billy is acting the way he is 
> 
> the title is again taken from the four horsemen by metallica

Billy hates the look Max keeps giving him.

It’s like a mix of pity, fear, and concern; soft in a way that makes it look almost kind.

He hates it. He doesn’t need Max’s – or anybody’s – sympathy.  He doesn’t need her pity. He doesn’t need her feeling sorry for him.

And he sure as hell doesn’t need that fucking _look_.

It makes him feel small.

He’s caught her looking at him more times than he can count this morning, since the goddamn _chief of police_ – with his little chief of police _hat_ and K5 Blazer and everything – dropped her off at their house at the ass crack of dawn, as if that’s a completely normal thing to do. But Max didn’t speak to him the entire morning, and Billy didn’t ask. It was a little too late for answers now, anyway.

He hadn’t seen that look since… well. Since the last time this happened. They were still in Cali, then.

God, he misses San Diego.

He needs a fucking smoke.

Billy wants to blame Max. Blame her for everything.

It used to be easy. Threaten her, because he can. Yell at her, because he can. Insult her, because he can.

Pretend it’s all her fault, because he can.

But that was _before_ she knocked him out and almost chopped his dick off. Before he saw the thing lurking behind her eyes, buried deep and dangerous. Before he recognized it. But she had more than that. No, there was something far stronger, there, fierce and tameless.

And that’s where they differ. Billy’s never had that.

It pisses him off.

He lights a cigarette.

And now, she keeps giving him that look, and it’s the same one every time, and once they get into the car, she doesn’t even bother trying to hide it.

And Billy hates it.

“Max, I swear to god, if I catch you staring at me one more time–” he stops himself as she immediately turns her gaze to the window. He’s not sure why he does, and it surprises him that he can’t find it in himself to finish that sentence. He doesn't know what to make of it.

“Yeah, no, sorry,” she mutters under her breath, and Billy freezes, because… did Max just apologize?

She doesn’t seem to have even noticed it, but Billy can feel the anger bubbling up inside him. A fucking apology? What is he, some kind of crybaby?

Feeling the anger starting to rise, he revs the engine. It feels good. Satisfying. But it’s not enough. Nothing is ever enough.

“I don’t want your fucking apology, Max. I want you to cut it out.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m _not_ sorry. Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole?”

He wonders, sometimes.

 

* * *

 

The looks he gets from everyone else, though… they’re worse.

It puts him on edge. From the moment he steps out of the car, it feels like everyone’s staring at him. Speculating. Judging. Presumptuous fucks, the lot of them. And there’s fear, there, too. Billy can see it in the way they avert their eyes just a little too quickly, make sure they don’t get too close to him as he walks down the corridor.

Billy might have enjoyed it, the attention, were the situation different. Were it _his_ name being whispered behind his back. Were it _his_ victory everyone was gossiping about. It would have made him feel powerful, the effect he had on people. It would have made him feel strong.

He remembers the first time this happened, the first time he’d been in a real fight. He was around twelve, thirteen – he remembers the kids calling him names, like they always did.

And he remembers being sick of it. Being sick of getting beat up at school and then a second time at home, for letting them. And he remembers the first moment he realized he could punch back. And that it would hurt.

He made them pay. It was the first time he got a taste of absolute power. And boy, did it feel good.

He got suspended over it, but it was worth it. No one dared touch him after that. No one, except his father.

Billy had thought he’d be happy about it, expected praise, an apology, even. Because he’d proved him wrong. He wasn’t a pussy like his father thought he was. He was strong, like he wanted.

And that may have been true, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t happy about the suspension. At all.

There was always something.

Just thinking about it makes Billy want to break something. It’s one of the things he’s learned, in his life. The frustration never goes away. And neither does the anger. It stacks. And that’s what Billy is. Just layers upon layers of anger and frustration.

But he has more important things to worry about, now. Things like Steve Harrington, and his pretty, pretty mouth.

It doesn’t take Billy long to find him, getting some books from his locker.

“Hey,” he says as he approaches Steve. He doesn’t turn around, or make the slightest attempt to look at Billy. He just sighs.

“What do you want, Billy?” And to Billy’s surprise, it’s not hostile as much as it is tired. And somehow, that’s worse.

“Not so pretty now, huh?” It’s meant to irritate him, get under his skin, but it gets to Billy, too. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Just saying it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Is that supposed to be a…” Steve trails off as he finally turns around, eyes going wide in horror. “Joke,” he adds absentmindedly. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Billy swallows. Then he cracks a smile. Casual, easy. His face hurts.

“What, forgot about our fight already?” he asks, voice low. Then he leans in close, into his personal space, smile gone. “I could remind you, if you like.” It’s a suggestion as much as it is a threat.

Steve just stares at him, something akin to disbelief painted across his face. He looks completely lost. Billy wordlessly searches his eyes for a sign of understanding.

_Do you understand what I’m saying?_

Nothing.

_You have to keep your mouth shut._

And watching him like this, face barely a few inches away, Billy notices for the first time that Steve has really pretty eyelashes. It’s such a small, unimportant detail, that he’s surprised he notices it at all. And who the fuck thinks eyelashes are pretty, anyway? But it’s not just his eyelashes. There’s something very honest about Steve’s features. Plain, but handsome. It’s his jaw, and his nose, and his lips – god, his _lips_. But especially his eyes. There’s something about Steve’s eyes, sincere and profound, and it gets Billy every time. He can’t tear his eyes away.

_What are you talking about?_

But his handsome features are ruined, now. Swollen and bruised, his face is a macabre painting of blue and purple. And Billy can’t help but wonder what Steve sees when he looks at him, bruises mirroring his own. Does he feel satisfied? The kind that only revenge can provide? Does he feel disgust? Contempt?

Billy fights the urge to reach out and touch, feel his skin under his fingertips. And almost immediately, the thought makes him sick. Because he did this. He did this to him. _He_ ruined Steve’s pretty face.

_You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make me say it, Harrington._

And slowly, Billy sees the look in Steve’s eyes shift with realization and understanding as they go wide. It feels like an eternity has passed, just the two of them staring at each other. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

And as he exhales in relief, Billy’s not sure what Steve thinks he knows, but at least he won’t tell anyone.

“Well. Guess you’re tougher than you look, pretty boy,” he says with a smirk.

Some student claps Steve on the back, muttering a “Damn, King Steve,” as he walks by, and the urge to grab him by the shoulders and punch his stupid face is strong – but he’s not going to risk a fight on school grounds. And Billy knows that this is for the best, but he doesn’t have to fucking like it.

“Enjoy your victory,” Billy says as he leans in again.

And with that, he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

He is grateful, on some level, to have made it through the day without any incidents, though only barely. The feeling of being watched makes him uneasy, restless. He’s constantly on guard, ready to snap at any moment. He can’t shake the feeling that everyone’s about to call him out on how pathetic he is, and if he hears one more hushed “King Steve”, he’s going to punch the next person he sees.

So when the final bell rings, he can’t get out of the building fast enough.

Max is already there when Billy gets to the car, and he’s grateful for that, too. He doesn’t know if he would’ve waited for her. Not when he’s so anxious to get the hell out of here. And damn the consequences.

“What, not going to the arcade with your little friends today?” Billy asks once they’re in the car.

“I never went to the arcade with–”

“Don’t lie to me, Max.”

“I’m not! And I wouldn’t have you drive me even if I was.” She doesn’t say it, but the implication is there. She doesn’t trust him around them.

“You really think I care about your stupid friends?”

She doesn’t answer. Billy revs the engine. It never gets old.

“Believe it or not, Max, I’m trying to protect you. You should be grateful someone’s looking out for your sorry ass.”

But again, she doesn’t answer. And again, he revs.

They don’t speak again the rest of the ride, and Billy’s anger just grows with each passing minute of silence. He is fuming by the time they get home.

But all his anger is gone the moment he steps into his room. There’s drops of blood on the floor, and the very air in the room seems to mock him. And he feels empty.

Billy will never forget the look on Susan’s face when he walks into the kitchen.

She looks aghast. Horrified. A small sound escapes her mouth as she covers it with her hand.

And Billy would be lying if he said it didn’t amuse him, in some way. He enjoys seeing her so uncomfortable, coming face to face with the reality of being a part of this family. Being forced to realize that she can’t ignore it and pretend everything’s fine. Pretend she’s innocent in all this.

Pretend she didn’t let this happen.

She doesn’t say anything. It’s better that way.

He walks straight past her, and she quickly steps out of the way. He grabs a bag of ice from the freezer, and as he turns around to leave, he catches her with the guiltiest expression.

And Billy couldn’t care less about Susan, or her feelings. Hell, he _hopes_ she feels bad. She shouldn’t have married his dad if she was gonna be like that. Billy can’t stand that wishy washy shit.

The ice feels good against skin, though, as he presses it against the bruises on his ribs. He’s back in his room, and even though the blood is gone, the pain (though somewhat alleviated by the ice) is still there, and Billy can’t stop looking at the spot where the blood had been. And he can’t stop thinking about last night. About his father. About how–

A knock on his door interrupts his thoughts. It’s either Max or Susan, and Billy doesn’t want to deal with either, so he ignores it. But it doesn’t stop. And it suddenly occurs to him that it might be his dad, maybe he came home early, or – but no, he would’ve heard the car. And he wouldn’t knock. So he ignores it.

The knocking persists.

So he gets up, and it’s not until he swings the door open that he realizes his mistake.

“What do you want, Max?”

Max’s gaze first falls on the bag of ice in his hand, then travels up his torso, and Billy can see in on her face the exact moment she sees it. Sees the bruises. And she just stares.

_Oh shit. Oh fuck._

He should’ve put on a shirt.  

Because even though she’s a piece of shit, she’s still a thirteen year old. And she doesn’t need to see this shit. Not like this.

She doesn’t answer. Billy’s not even sure she heard him.

“Hey.” Nothing. “Hey!” She finally looks up at him, and Billy can’t take it. He turns around to get his shirt from the ground and puts it on. A sigh escapes him. “What do you want?”

“I…” she starts. “I heard my mom on the phone, Neil’s on his way. I, uh,” she looks at the bag of ice again. “Thought you should know.”

Billy just looks at her. That was the last thing he expected her to say. He doesn’t want to think about what that means. But he’s glad she did. His dad is the last person he wants to see right now.

He reaches for the door, but Max interrupts him.

“Billy,” she says, voice weak, and Billy can tell she’s about to ask something.

“What?”

“He did that to you?” Her gaze falls on his shirt, where the bruises would be underneath, and when she looks back up at him, there something unusually open about her expression. And it’s not pity, this time. It’s softer, kinder.

And Billy doesn’t stand a chance. He freezes. It’s the way she asks it. It’s such a childish question, innocent. It shouldn’t affect him the way it does. But she sounds surprised. It’s not a statement, it’s a genuine question.

And that touches something in Billy, ripping right through his defenses. Something deep, hidden – something that cannot be surfaced under any circumstances.

Because Billy knows what’ll happen if he lets it. He knows what it’s like to wallow in self-pity, and it’s unlike any other kind of pain. It’s worse.

Because Billy knows why Max is asking that question. Knows the thought behind it. The feeling. Billy’s been there.

Because Billy _knows_. He knows that it’s not supposed to be like this. Deep down, he knows that this isn’t normal.

That this isn’t okay.

But he’d rather die than admit that, to himself or anyone else, because it would break the illusion – the illusion of control, of power. Things Billy desperately needs to function, his bread and butter. Because that makes him weak. It makes him some kind of victim. And Billy is not weak. Billy Hargrove is not fucking _weak_.

And he doesn’t need – whatever this is.

“Get out.”

“I–”

“Get out!” he yells, and there’s a flicker of terror in Max’s expression before it turns into anger, and she storms off. Billy slams the door after her.

It’s all he can do to stop himself from bursting into tears right then and there.

 

* * *

 

His hands are shaking, he notices as he hardens his grip on the wheel.

Billy watches the house in the rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller as he drives away, until he can’t see it anymore. Not that it’s enough to make the feeling go away. The feeling of helplessness. He can run as much as he wants, go as far as he wants. He can’t escape that feeling.

But he keeps driving, blasting W.A.S.P. and singing along.

 _You say you don’t wanna run and hide_ _  
_ _a face that no one knows_

He lights a smoke.

And he loves this song, but he’s not feeling it. He’s not feeling it at all.

No, he feels like shit.

Driving helps, though. Always has. Feels like he can be free, even for only a little while.

 _And everyone you meet, you’re gonna show_ _  
_ _you’re nobody’s slave, nobody’s chains are holdin’ you_

But the lyrics, familiar and easy, now ring hollow to his ears, and he feels like a liar. A complete fraud. He’s running away like a coward. What does that say about him? He doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. About Max, about his father, about Susan. Any of it.

But it’s all he can think about, and it pisses him off. And it’s not the kind of anger that speed can satisfy, this time. No, Billy needs more than that. Something he can get his hands on, something that’ll distract him, something he can _feel_ –

And he realizes, suddenly, that it just so happens that he’s driving past a basketball court. It’s the nicer part of town, and he’s not in the mood to deal with pampered rich kids, but hey, he’s itching for a fight, anyway. It’ll do.

It’s getting dark, and there are only a couple of guys playing. They turn their attention to Billy as he catches the ball when one of them misses.

“Mind if I join, boys?”

He recognizes them from school – Tommy’s friends. Reed something, and he doesn’t know the name of the other one. The only thing Billy knows about them is that they’re assholes. And that’s all that matters.

“Well, if it isn’t the Keg King himself,” Reed says, and Billy already wants to punch that shit eating grin off his face.

He smiles.

“Go ahead, man,” the other one adds, gesturing towards the hoop.

And it comes naturally to Billy, having played basketball almost his entire life. The movements, the steps, it’s all second nature.

Except it doesn’t. Because Billy feels like he’s been hit by a truck, and it hurts to move his arms. It hurts to breathe. He never had a chance.

He misses.

Then he misses again. And again.

Then he stops when he hears a snort, and it’s like the whole world stops with him.

It’s an ugly sound, coming from the mouth of an ugly, spoiled rich kid, and it makes his blood boil.

It’s exactly what he’d been looking for.

“Something funny?” he asks, turning around.

“What? No, no,” Reed starts, giving his friend a look. “Figures you’d, uh, you know,” he nods at the ball. “In your current… condition.” His friend laughs.

“Think you know about my _condition_ , do you?” Calm. Casual. Billy takes a step.

“Just look at you, man. You look pathetic.” He laughs. “Steve must’ve enjoyed kicking your ass.”

Billy can’t help but smile. He’s going to enjoy this.

The other one laughs. “We saw you talking to him this morning.You his bitch now?” They’re close enough to reach out and touch. Billy could take them. Billy could take them if he wanted.

“Probably apologizing and begging for forgiveness. Right, Billy?” They both snicker at that, and Billy can feel the rage running through his veins, pounding in his ears as he takes a step, dropping the ball. He feels exposed.

“Did you even try to fight back? Or did you just lay down and take it,” the other one continues, taking a few steps, and he’s only a few feet away now. “Like a whore.”

And Billy knows they’re talking about Steve, but all he can think about is his father, and it stirs something in him. Something dark. Sinister.

“Did you suck his cock too?”

That finally does it.

Billy is faintly aware that it was Reed who said it, and that they both laughed, but it’s all distant, hazy. It’s like he’s looking at them from beyond a veil.

He doesn’t think. He acts.

The first punch sends the guy stumbling backwards, and he’s on the ground by the second one. Then a kick to the balls, and he’s out.

What a fucking lightweight. About what you’d expect from his type. Goddamn rich kids.

As he’s turning around to see where Reed is, Billy dodges a punch from him at the last second, purely reflex. And god, he’s enjoying this. His hand hurts like hell, the bruises on his knuckles still not healed from his fight with Steve, and his entire body feels like it's on fire, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

He lets out a wild laugh.

“That all you got?” he yells.

And it works. Reed takes a step forward, and swings. But Billy knows just when to step out of the way, when to turn around, and when to strike. Because _that’s_ second nature to him, too.

Reed stumbles backward, but quickly shrugs it off. Billy’s almost impressed. Doesn’t stop him from throwing another punch, though.

But to his surprise, he misses. And then there’s pain. Excruciating, throbbing pain. Every inch of his face hurts.

And he laughs, and that hurts too, and he’s pretty sure _something_ is bleeding, but it’s so good. Billy fucking lives for that feeling, that adrenaline-high, combined with the satisfaction that comes from not having to hold back. Freedom.

His father would’ve called it recklessness. And in that moment, Billy finds that hilarious. Because look at him. He’s at some basketball court at night, beating up some guys he barely knows, and it has nothing to do with them. It has nothing to do with them at all. How could he _not_ laugh at that?

And Reed gives him this look, full of fear, but it’s not fear of pain. It’s fear of unpredictability, like how you’d feel uneasy around someone who’s insane. Reed looks at him like he’s insane.

Billy has never been one to miss an opportunity, though, and he grabs Reed by the collar. He doesn’t have time to resist as Billy shoves him to the ground, and for a moment he can see himself on the ground instead of Reed, his father towering above him.

It’s fuel to the fire.

Billy loses track of most things, after that. He loses track of time, loses sense of place, of self – there’s only raw, fervid emotion, and he feels it with every fibre of his being.

So he doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t the yelling, doesn’t hear someone calling out his name, until he finally feels hands gripping him by the shoulders, pulling him off of Reed and back to his feet.

“Billy! Billy, stop!”

And he’s instantly aware of everything again, and it’s too much. He feels dizzy, trying to catch his breath, and he can feel his knuckles burning, throbbing. He looks down to see they’re covered in blood. It’s not his. His hands are shaking.

“What the fuck, Billy!”

And Billy’s still coming down from the adrenaline, the world fuzzy around him, but he’d recognize Steve’s voice anywhere. _Shit_.

Then he sees Reed, barely recognizable and face covered in blood.

It’s hard to see with Steve kneeling over him, and panic rises in Billy’s stomach for a moment, paralyzing dread at the thought of _no, no, no_ – but Reed’s chest rises, and falls, and _thank fucking god he’s alive._

Overwhelming relief washes over Billy, and suddenly his knees are weak, and god, he needs to sit down. He leans against the hoop, head hitting against the cold metal. He closes his eyes, and exhales deeply. He reaches into his pocket to get a cigarette, only to be interrupted by Steve grabbing him by the collar and pushing him back against the hoop.

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters.

“Are you _insane_ ?” Steve exclaims. “You could’ve _killed_ him!”

“But I didn’t.” His voice is shaking. _Get a hold of yourself, you pussy. It’s just adrenaline._

“Yeah, because I got here first!”

“You got a point?” Billy licks his lips. “And the hell are you doing here, anyway? Can’t get enough of me?” He gives him a wolfish grin.

“I was playing _basketball!_ Jesus, Billy, can you not be so fucking casual about this?”

“What, you actually friends with these assholes?” Steve gives him a look. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you,” Steve lets go of his shirt, “to act like a goddamn person. A human being.”

“My god, you are so right. I’m really sorry, man. I didn’t mean to beat the shit out of your friends. You know, I’ll go apologize to them right now,” he says, voice getting louder and louder, and points to Reed lying on the ground. “And then we can talk about our feelings and cry, how’s that sound?” he finally snaps, voice only a few decibels short of yelling.

“Oh my god,” Steve groans, “do you ever stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Stop _pretending_.”

And there is it is. The whole reason he’s in this situation. And it’s all coming back to him, his father, Max, Susan, and that harrowing feeling that never really went away in the first place.

“The fuck do _you_ know, Harrington?” Billy says, voice weaker than he'd intended, and it’s barely a question.

“I know,” Steve says as he steps away. “I _know_ , Billy.”

“You don’t know shit, asshole,” he says as he tries to push his way past Steve.

“Listen.” But Steve doesn’t move. “ _Listen_ ,” Steve repeats, grabbing Billy’s arm, and this is the second time he’s done that, and Billy’s patience is wearing thin. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Billy.” Billy follows his gaze to Reed lying on the ground, just a few feet away. “ _You_ ,” Steve continues as he tightens his grip, shaking him lightly, “don’t have to be like this.”

And Billy feels like he’s just been slapped. So he stares. He just stares at Steve without saying a word, and Steve stares right back. Right through. And it's intense.

It's intense, and Billy is used to intense but this is different. Because Billy knows intense when it's intimidating, and Billy knows intense when it's furious, and Billy knows intense when it's terrifying; but not this. _This_ is new.

And it’s those _eyes_ of his again, dark and tired, and there’s _so much_ there. His expression sharp, flickering with something Billy can’t quite name yet. But it’s sincere. It’s honest.

  
And it scares the shit out of Billy.

“Fuck you.” He forcefully pushes Steve’s hand off his arm, and Steve lets him, but Billy doesn't miss the way Steve’s expression changes, ever so subtly. He doesn't break eye contact, though. No, Steve never breaks eye contact. He doesn’t back down. What works on everyone else just doesn’t seem to work on Steve.

And for some reason, it doesn’t piss him off as much as it intrigues him. He wants to push, to explore, to break.

Billy shoves him back, and this time Steve steps out of the way. Then he watches him leave. Watches him right up until the moment he gets into his car. And Billy can feel his gaze on the back of his neck the whole time.

 

* * *

 

After he gets home, and after he takes a shower, and after he’s done applying ice, Billy’s still thinking about what Steve said to him.

He doesn’t want to. Billy _can’t_ think about that. Can’t think about the shit he’s done.

Can’t think about the time he broke Jason’s arm, because he called Billy a coward. Can’t think about the time he broke two of Ryan’s ribs when he found out about Billy. Can’t think about the time he wrecked David’s car with a baseball bat, as a warning. Can’t think about the countless fights.

Can’t think about Max.

_It doesn't have to be like this._

And the worst part is that he's right. Steve is right.

_You don't have to be like this._

But Billy doesn't know how. Billy doesn't know how to be anything other than this. Billy doesn't _want_ to be anything other than this.

Because this is safe. This is comfortable. This, Billy knows.  

And it's too late. It's too late for what could've been. It's too late for everything.

**Author's Note:**

> any constructive criticism or feedback is more than welcome! 
> 
> i'm currently working on the next fic for this series but it's going to be multichapter and i might just give up on it so. this fic might be the end of this series, and if not, it's gonna be a while before i post another one. so i just wanted to say thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


End file.
